


Bad liar

by emotionalsupporthufflepuff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blame the music, But not too much plot, Closet Sex, Comeplay, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, I just wanted to write smut, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Ron Weasley Bashing, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, non dramione infidelity, oblivious idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27477466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emotionalsupporthufflepuff/pseuds/emotionalsupporthufflepuff
Summary: It isn’t love at first sight, not by a long shot.It’s more like a craving, for something illicit that’s all the sweeter for it, like the first sip of whiskey sliding over the tongue or the pain relief finally kicking and siphoning the rough edges of a headache away.But this could be much worse, much much worse.He happens the first time entirely by accident.Well, as much of an accident as these things can be.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 24
Kudos: 187





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd smut. Probably 3 parts I don't know I'm becoming comfortable in my identity as a pantser of mini fics 
> 
> ****  
> I see how your attention builds  
> It's like looking in a mirror  
> Your touch like a happy pill  
> But still all we do is fear  
> What could possibly happen next? 
> 
> Selena Gomez, Bad liar.

It isn’t love at first sight, not by a long shot. 

It’s more like a craving, for something illicit that’s all the sweeter for it, like the first sip of whiskey sliding over the tongue or the pain relief finally kicking and siphoning the rough edges of a headache away. 

But this could be much worse, much much worse. 

He happens the first time entirely by accident. 

Well, as much of an accident as these things can be. 

Another Ministry Gala, a fundraiser for St. Mungos, highly inappropriately titled “Let’s show our love for our MediWitches.” It’s a dull affair only fueled by the open bar and the cheap champagne coming from it

She’s bored, and her brain begins to itch from being stagnant too long. She and Ron are the outs, so she can’t even pick a fight with him to vent some of the frustration. It’s stupid and childish, but then again, so is Ron. But he is also safe and pliant to her will. He’s not a challenge, and sometimes it’s nice to take the easy route. 

But then she sees him across the room, and everything changes. 

At almost a head taller than anyone else and with that nearly iridescent blond hair, he’s always been impossible to miss. But he doesn’t hunch his shoulders in or try to make himself seem smaller, instead, he seems to fill the space with an unmistakable air of confidence, moving with the infamous swagger he just seemed to be born with. 

Hermione still hated him. She wanted to destroy him; to dismantle the calm facade, make him squirm under her hand. Watch those steel-colored eyes darkened and to see a pink flush color up that alabaster skin. To listen to his ragged breath, beg her for mercy. Would that bored drawl carry through the whole time, or would he start dropping the ends of his words as he pleaded for…

For what exactly?

It doesn’t matter. Draco Malfoy would touch a dirty little muggle-born like her if his miserable life depended on it.

So she tries to shake off her thoughts. She doesn’t wonder what his formal robes’ lapels feel like if the soft-looking material makes an interesting contradiction with the hardness of his chest. Nor does she wonder if the scarlet pocket square making his formal attire as “festive” for the occasion was silk or was a convincing fake. Did Malfoy ever cut corners anywhere, or was he as fastidious as he appeared?

She refused to think about it all, even when his eyes watched her like mercury melting into her skin. Her dress was an old favorite, a deep red almost on the verge of burgundy, lacey and backless, usually worn with a shawl, but tonight she’s decided to forgo it entirely. Malfoy seemed to be studying every stitch of it very closely, probably to call her out on how cheaply made it was later.

Most of all, she refuses to notice that he’s alone too. Typically there’s a flavor of the week hanging off his arm, all of them vapid and interchangeable. Tonight, however, he’s forgone the obnoxious accessory. 

She’s not the only one who’s noticed.

But he waves them away, one by one, eyes always locked on her. The night is winding down before he speaks to her. 

“Flying solo tonight, Granger?”

“Obviously.” she bites, ready to take the offensive position with him. 

“Finally kick Weasley like the bad habit he is? Did you use crayons and small words when you did it? Or did you just get up and walk away, leaving his dumb arse to work it all out?” Malfoy observes her over the edge of his champagne flute. 

“Did you come over here just to dump all over my ex? I don’t imagine there’s a witch in here whose knickers you haven’t ever had your paws on.” She returns his move of watching over the edge of her flute. His eyes widen slightly, and his lips part letting little a puff of air loose. 

“You don’t know anything about my taste in witches. I came over here to tell you losing Weasley is a good look on you, the lack of ginger hanging on your arm improves your complexion and- “ he gestures to her body “ suits your figure.”

“Is that a compliment? Are you actually complimenting a Muggle-Born on purpose?” she sets down the now empty glass on a tray that goes floating by. 

He mimics her, never dropping his line of sight. “I’ll do a lot more than complimenting a Muggleborn witch.” 

“Please. I’m not your type Malfoy. You’ve had your fun.” the closer he gets, the more her curiosity burns and desire pulses between her legs. He’s gorgeous, new, and a challenge with all the dangerous potential of an addiction she’d never be able to get another hit of. 

“What exactly do you think my type is then since you keep bringing it up?” He’s so close to her now she can feel his warmth from his slightly intoxicated body rolling from him and smell the expensive cologne that so uniquely Draco it’s like a siren’s call. 

“Very tall, very thin.” she presses her lips together in thought. “Pureblood, half at worst, More boobs, less brain. Primary school reading levels and counts of fingers for simple addition.” 

He chuckles, and it awakens another wave of longing in her. 

“Oh, Granger, if only you knew. Those are the types that are attracted to me and my money. My personal preferences run quite the opposite. Curvy little bookworms with a mean right hook and a sharp mind, now that...that’s what I like.” 

The group around them had moved on, leaving them entirely alone.

“Meet me in the supply closet in 5 minutes,” he whispers, hardly brushing against her skin.

“Isn’t that a little too plebeian for your blood Malfoy? A clandestine meeting in a closet?”

He only answers with a playful grin before backing away in the crowds. 

All of her projects for the evening are wrapped up, she was only waiting for a socially acceptable time to leave the Gala. If she disappeared for the rest of the night, no one would notice. 

Hermione thought bitterly to herself, marching down the carpeted office hallway that she must be mad, she must have this insatiable need thrumming through her like this. 

She opens the closet door to feel a hand close around her wrist and tug her in. Suddenly his scent hits her again, and the gluttonous longing roars to life. 

Sizing up her options for this venture into insanity, she lights her wand and throws the light high, dipping the both into dramatic shadow. His hand rests on the crest of her hip and the other hand on her shoulder, sending her a clear signal: She’s free to leave, and whatever happens from here on out is his choice. But the erection pressed against her backside reminds her he’s very interested.

“Sit.” She commands, pulling out a wooden chair from a pile. He does as she bids, and with a flick of her wand, his hands bound together behind it and his legs to each leg of the chair. His eyebrows arch almost into his hairline in a wordless question, but his cool grey eyes have no fight in them, only a thrilling spark of lust.

She straddles him on the chair, tangling her fingers into the soft, fine strands of his hair, messing it from it’s perfectly coiffed style. Her lips skate over his at first, only exploring the new sensation of having him like this. Then despite his position, he's still bold enough to press into her, his tongue flicks over her lips, asking for permission. 

She gives it to him and briefly wonders what kind of Pandora's box she's opened. 

He's everywhere, consuming her, taking everything, and razing anything that he can't steal. Its fire in her veins and an earthquake in her soul. 

She fights fire with fire, taking back and striking back. Her mouth skims over his jaw, down his neck, and nips at his ears, making his hips jut forward harder into her. 

He swears and pleads for release. His voice is silk against her skin but to give him to win the battle but lose the war. 

Sliding back on his lap, she frees the erection that's been pressing into her thighs and driving her wild. From this vantage, the damage is more evident, her lipstick smudged all over his porcelain skin. It feels like it’s been building for years. 

Standing on shaking legs, Hermione wills all her grace to carefully slip her knickers off under her dress and over her heels. Malfoy tilts his head to the side, trying to gain a new vantage, but doesn’t utter a complaint about the predicament he finds himself in. 

Dangling the knickers on one finger, she tucks them into his inner coat pocket. 

Resuming her straddling position, she aligns their centers so he can feel the wet heat radiating between her legs. For the first time, his icy exterior breaks into something that might be nerves. 

“Take what you need, Granger.” 

They connect for the first time, and a lewd moan slips from her lips. When he seated all the way inside her, the stretch is almost painful. He mumbles praises about how good she feels against her skin.

The edge is racing up quickly as she rocks back and forth, arms wrapped around his shoulders. Malfoy doesn’t try to escape or beg to be let go anymore, instead just braces himself tightly as she fucks herself against him. Feeling as though she's been dosed with a potion, the noises in the room become indecipherable over the beating of her own hearts and the sounds being pulled from both of them. 

She screams her release, unaware of what she’s saying, it could be poetry, or incoherent babbles she wouldn’t know the difference. He frees his hands to grab her hips under her dress, continuing to rock her back and forth through aftershocks, crashing his hip into hers until her thighs quake violently.

He swears, dropping his head back, shuddering through his release inside her.

The panting breaths between them are the only sounds as the world contracts back to reality. It seems so impossible how much and how little has changed in the tiny space. 

“Weasley ever make you feel like that?” 

Hermione pulls off him with a quickness she didn’t even know she possessed. Ruined. Such a glorious afterglow dashed away by bold male jealousy. It was stupid really to think such a fragile thing could have lasted any longer. 

“The spell that's binding you will cancel after I close the door. Don’t follow me. Don’t...just don’t…” 

Taking one last look at the wreckage she’s leaving behind, there’s a sense of pride in seeing he’s definitely more obvious that she is. A purple love bite blooming on his next and there’s a button missing on his shirt. 

The door closes much too loudly for her comfort, and she’s sure everyone still here knows what's happened.

He doesn’t follow.

Of course, that was only the first time….


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because she can't even think about sleeping with him. Every tepid kiss between them makes her yearn for the fire exchanged between her and Malfoy. All her fantasies are filled with lipstick-stained alabaster skin without a freckle insight, the punishing force of his fingers on hips, and his cock splitting her open. It's a relief Ron doesn't sleep next to her because she's sure she’s called out Draco’s name as she awoke with soaked knickers and a dull ache between her legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains infidelity between Ron and Hermione. Turn away now if you don't want to read it /don't like.  
> ****
> 
> I was walking down the street the other day  
> Tryna distract myself  
> But then I see your face  
> Oh wait, that's someone else  
> Ohh, tryna play it coy  
> Tryna make it disappear  
> But just like the battle of Troy  
> There's nothing subtle here
> 
> -Bad liar, Selena Gomez

She's not sure what possessed her to try again with Ron. It might have been a moment of fleeting nostalgia for what might have been or a stabbing pang of guilt for what had transpired on Valentine's day.

Not that Ron knew about that. No one knew. It was a mistake she doesn’t intend to make again. 

So they reach some sort of tenuous accord to try again. Get reacquainted. Take things slow.

Painfully slow.

Because she can't even think about sleeping with him. Every tepid kiss between them makes her yearn for the fire exchanged between her and Malfoy. All her fantasies are filled with lipstick-stained alabaster skin without a freckle insight, the punishing force of his fingers on hips, and his cock splitting her open. It's a relief Ron doesn't sleep next to her because she's sure she’s called out Draco’s name as she awoke with soaked knickers and a dull ache between her legs. 

Part of the pull is the enigma surrounding Malfoy. Was the incident in the closet supposed to be some kind of revenge on his part? A chance to boast about how his prowess had bagged even the most seemingly prude bookworm? If it was, the rumor mill remained woefully ignorant of his conquest. 

She tells herself it was because she needed to dismantle the mystery to purge him from her mind. That it was one last challenge before resigning herself to Ron forever. 

One more hit. 

Once at work, she formulates a plan. Some pedantic bureaucratic nonsense about Auror uniform regulations. She cycles through a few surprise inspections on unsuspecting Aurors before calling on Malfoy for his. 

He sees right through it, of course, but plays along. Pretending to straighten his already immaculate badge and waving his wand over his sleeves to banish any extra lint. 

The door closes, and her heart pounds dangerously in her ears. 

"You got me alone again, Granger. Well done. Are you going to ask me for your knickers back? The answer is no, and trust me, you don't want them back." His stare is heated, burning her unapologetically. 

"I have to know Malfoy. Why me? After all this time, after everything that's transpired between us." She gives in to the longing to touch, letting one finger trail down the buttons of his uniform, his firm chest rising and falling with every tense breath. 

"It's your turn to sit." He says suddenly. With a burst of wandless magic, her office chair speeds towards her, knocking her off her feet as she falls back into it. 

"I don't- " 

But Malfoy is already sinking to his knees in front of her, parting her knees and pushing up the pencil skirt around her waist. Black stockings cover each leg to the thigh and Malfoy lets out a low groan of appreciation. Hooking one heel clad foot over his shoulder, his lips start blazing a trail that makes her squirm against him. 

"You want to know why you? Well, Malfoy’s are attracted to power, always have been." His tongue flicks against a bare patch of thigh, and she gasps. With a chuckle, he begins the descent back down. "Not that we want to wield it; we just want access. You, my dear, are very powerful." 

"For a Muggle-Born?" She tries to push away using the armrests, but he hooks the other leg around his shoulder, rendering her more vulnerable to him.

"You're the only one bringing blood status into this. I just want to show you how much better off you are without that useless sack of flesh following you around." His fingers dig in deeper and part her thighs even more, bringing her damp core into more light. 

"We're trying to work things out - " 

"Really? It doesn’t look like it to me." His tongue darts out, swiping at her knickers. Electricity shoots through her spine, making her hips jut forward. "Doesn't taste like it either." 

"We are." It's a pathetic whimper.

"Then tell me to stop, tell me you don't want this." One hand shoves her knickers to the side, and she can feel his breath on her bare skin, can feel the leather of the chair biting into her arse and arousal on her thighs betraying her words. 

She swallows and closes her eyes, wetting her lips. "Don't stop. I want it, please." 

He devours her. There's nothing gentle or timid about it though it's the first time they've been like this. He doesn’t take the time to explore her because it’s as if someone's already given him detailed instructions on what to do. Taking his soft hair in her fingers, it's all she can do to hold on and keep from arching up out of the seat. 

Her mouth falls open, and noises she never knew she was capable of making pour out of it. Molten silver eyes clouded with lust watch her chaotic frenzy. 

“Please, please, please.”

But she doesn't even know what she's begging for. Every nerve is singing in pleasure, and her tense muscles plead for relief. Malfoy latches on to her clit and slides two long fingers into her, curling them, beckoning her orgasm forward. With fingers tangled in his hair and hips rolling of their own accord into his face, its hits, imploding then exploding in a brilliant wave of light. Her muscles tremble with a force she's never known.

She slumps back into her office chair, disentangling her fingers, wondering if she's hurt him accidentally. If she did, he gives no notice, lapping at her through the aftershocks and making a show of cleaning his fingers of her essence in his mouth. 

"What about you?" She finally manages as he stands and stretches, a sizable tent in the placard of his trousers. 

"What about me, Granger? I know what I want. Ditch the weasel,and you can have earth-shattering orgasms all the time. I'm sure Weasley is a two-pump chump who wouldn't know a clit if it was labeled." 

Hot tears pricked at her eyes, spurred on by the sudden drop in adrenaline. "Why do you do that? Why do you have to go and ruin the moment like that?!" Malfoy says nothing, straightening his sleeves. "I'm just some sick fetish to you, aren’t I? And that's why you have to be so crass, so I remember my place." 

The old sneer fills his face, and he pulls his collar straight. "Yeah, that's right. Have fun trapped in misery - "

"GET OUT-" 

Draco turns his heel, leaving, slamming the door shut behind him. 

***  
That night she tries to scrub him out of her skin in the shower, glamor away the bruises, and vows that she's done for good. She takes dreamless sleep so she can’t see those eyes staring into her barred soul. 

It’s too late though, he's left his mark and got her hooked. After a solid week of dedicating all her efforts to reach the same high on her own, she can't, and it drives her to the brink of insanity. 

But then it creeps into her psyche that maybe it was just luck, or possibly because she hadn't come in such a long time. Either way, there was no way Malfoy could recreate what happened. 

So she needs to try him one last time. 

***  
"Malfoy, I need your help with these reports you filed. Will you please come to my office and clarify a few things?" Her voice isn't half as strong as she hoped. 

Malfoy arches a brow and unfolds his long legs from where they are propped up on the desk. "Lead the way, Granger." 

There are already two chairs positioned behind her desk and a spread of paperwork on it. She makes a show of shuffling things for a few minutes before leaning over the desk, pretending to look for something and arching her back high, making the loose, knee-length skirt ride up. 

Hermione shivered as one long finger ghosts down her spine, hardly making contact with the skin. It moves in a precise line down her vertebrae, following the arch of her hunched over form. 

"About last time - " She stutters, but the hand continues in its relentless travels until it found her shoulder and squeezed it to release the tension from them. 

A sinister finger pulls a curl at the base of her neck taut and lets it spring back into place. 

"Did you ditch him yet?" Cool air hits her thighs as he flips up the hem of her skirt. The sharp intake of breath is the exact effect she was hoping for with her new emerald knickers. "Oh, Granger, you look so good in green. These can't be for him." 

"No, for you." She confesses as his palm brushed against her sex. He answers with a sharp swat, sending her into the surface of the desk with a cry. His palm slides over again. 

"So you do feel like you need to be punished, don't you?" Another swat and another cry. "Touch yourself." She hesitates for half a heartbeat and receives another blow. Her hands slid into her knickers to work at her clit in tight circles. Malfoy lets out a pleased hum. "Knees, but don't stop what you're doing.” 

Awkwardly, she moves from the desk to a kneeling position, sitting tall to get enough height. Draco had freed his erection from his trousers, pumping himself languidly, the head already bright red.

"Open." He commands. She opens her mouth most of the way as he rubs the tip on her tongue. "Don't stop touching yourself. I want to see you come with my cock in your mouth." He slides up the length of her tongue, holding her jaw in her hand. Drool starts to gather at the corner of her mouth. Her sensible work lipstick is smudged in a ring around her lips, and her fingers are starting to make an obscene noise, darting in and out of her core. 

He let go of her jaw and muttered, "Suck." 

She wrapped her lips around him and took as much length as she could manage, pulled back, and went deeper. Tears welled with each gag, surely ruining the light coat of mascara. But her determination drove her to keep her eyes focused upon his face, watching him unravel before her. 

With a heavy sigh, Draco tilts his chin towards the ceiling, letting his head fall back. His whole body seems to be humming as if he's on the verge of some kind of magical outburst. The perfectly unaffected image of Draco Malfoy is falling away right in front of her, at her touch. He praised her endlessly, calling her perfect and brilliant. A moment of clarity comes through to her.; Tthis was the power she had and the one he sought from her. Even if it was just sexual, he wants her as bad she wants him, maybe even more so. 

She comes with a muffled wail, clenching around her fingers, her legs threatening to give out. Draco’s eyes snapped to hers, and he watches, pupils blown and slack-jawed, entranced by her. Pulling off his cock with a wet pop, a trail of spit hangs off her lips. 

Malfoy mumbles something halfway between "fuck" and "Gods," hauling her to her feet on unsteady legs and guiding her to lay back on the desk. With her skirt ruched up at the waist, soaked knickers on display, and hair a riotous nest of curls, she lay there gazing up at him, unable to form words through the high feeling clouding her mind. One hand pumps furiously at his cock, and with the other caresses her cheek reverently.  
"So beautiful, especially like this. Don't move." 

Hermione nods, already knowing what's going to happen. Idly her hands run over her breasts, basking in the awe on Malfoy’s face. 

He comes in hot spurts onto her knickers and belly, his whole body shuddering with his release. Staring at the scene beneath him like he's hallucinating like it can't possibly be real, he bends down to kiss her, simple and chaste.  
"Leave him."  
" Already done."


End file.
